"The King and all the men of the land having left to fight the wicked Barodians, Euralia was now a country of women only--_a country in which even a King might be glad to be a subject_." Now what does this mean? Is it another example of literary theft? I have already had to expose Shelley. Must I now drag into the light of day a still worse plagiarism by Roger Scurvilegs? The waste-paper baskets of the Palace were no doubt open to him as to so many historians. But should he not have made acknowledgments? I do not wish to be hard on Roger. That I differ from him on many points of historical fact has already been made plain, and will be made still more plain as my story goes on. But I have a respect for the man; and on some matters, particularly those concerning Prince Udo of Araby's first appearance in Euralia, I have to rely entirely upon him for my information. Moreover I have never hesitated to give him credit for such of his epigrams as I have introduced into this book, and I like to think that he would be equally punctilious to others. We know his romantic way; no doubt the thought occurred to him independently. Let us put it at that, anyhow. Belvane, meanwhile, was getting on. The King had drawn his sword on her and she had not flinched. As a reward, she was to be the power behind the throne. "Not necessarily _behind_ the throne," said Belvane to herself. CHAPTER IV THE PRINCESS HYACINTH LEAVES IT TO THE COUNTESS It is now time to introduce Wiggs to you, and I find myself in a difficulty at once. What _was_ Wiggs's position in the Palace? This story is hard to tell, for I have to piece it together from the narratives of others, and to supply any gaps in their stories from my knowledge of how the different characters might be expected to act. Perhaps, therefore, it is a good moment in which to introduce to you the authorities upon whom I rely. First and foremost, of course, comes Roger Scurvilegs. His monumental work, _Euralia Past and Present_, in seventeen volumes, towers upon my desk as I write. By the merest chance, I picked it up (in a metaphorical sense) at that little shop near--I forget its name, but it's the third bookshop on the left as you come into London from the New
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